


Kit and the Art of Thieving

by AkihiroHowlett (Archangelsings), Archangelsings



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anti-Heroes, Banter, Cameos, Canon Character of Color, Cause Oz is definitely not the main character in my other story, Hush - Freeform, I mean Kit lowkey just makes a joke out of everything, LGBT, M/M, Main Character of Color, Oz gets around, Oz is lowkey king but sh, Polyamory, Probably Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Sci-Fi, Superheroes, a weird 'what if president trump lowkey made aliens come to our planet since we're already fucked', and he does it well, boy has two rich af boyfriends, but i mean not really, er young adult?, lots of banter, my world my rules, okay I'm gonna stop now, okay i'm done now for real, okay its not like a stated thing but thats how it started, present day, short angry japanese men, so much gay, super powers, this is Kit's story, uh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-11 03:01:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archangelsings/pseuds/AkihiroHowlett, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archangelsings/pseuds/Archangelsings
Summary: It sounds like the start of a bad joke: What do you get when you pair a party-hard thief, a self appointed hero and the world's angriest not-engineer together? Shenanigans and maybe a little bit of do gooding too. That is if they can figure out how to work together without accidentally (or not so accidentally) killing each other first.It's 2016 and all is right in the confines of America. Except for the floating Arrival rocks in the sky. Those are a little weird. But kinda cool too.





	1. its probably for arrival

**Kit Walker was an honest sort of guy.**  Perhaps he was a little bit of a dick and a little bit too blunt for his own good, but, as his mother always said, at least he was an  _honest_  sort of dick. Still, in the grand scheme of things, which were appropriately dubbed  _The-_ _Masterplans_ _-Of-Shit-That-Liked-To-Fuck-Him-Over_ \--that was  _probably_  better than being known as the reason  _#_ _dickish_  was a thing.

His honesty, or the lack thereof, really didn't come as a surprise to anyone. It went hand in hand with his...  _Things_. You know, like his black thing. And his male thing. And his not wholly straight thing. Those  _Capital 'T' Things_  just  _loved_  conspiring with  _The Plans_  to make his life that tiny bit more #hellish.

Fun.

Anyway, all of this was to say that when the barista in front of him, a shortish slightly pimply looking college student he vaguely recognized from his dorm--he was pretty sure it was the Asian kid who always looked ten seconds away from committing some form of homicide in the room down the hall--suddenly stopped repeating his order to stutter out, _"what the fuck is that?!"_ with a wide eyed stare, Kit immediately replied with: _"Art. And it's a Brontosaurus not a_   _penis",_   _honestly_  thinking (ie. believing) that the barista had been talking about his ' _dinosaurs were dicks too'_ tee and not, like, saying ' _what_ _-the-fuck-is-that'_  in a ' _what-the-fuck-are-you_ ' kind of way. Which would be kinda bad. Not to mention rude. If the dude had never seen a black man up close before, he had a problem and Kit had neither the time nor the energy to educate him on the intricacies of Black America. It was the twenty-first century for fucks sake. Watch Roots or something.

The barista, though, only gave Kit a blank look for his trouble, and yeah okay,  _that_  was a  _little_  weird. Kit had figured the guy would laugh or at least roll his eyes good naturedly since most guys Kit's age were the type to find dick jokes hilarious even when they really, really  _weren't_ , but the guy didn't. Didn't even crack a smile. Instead the barista just looked at Kit like he'd grown a second head and started reciting Shakespeare to the tune of Taylor Swift. Last he checked he was not  _that_  crazy. He was just sleep deprived and stressed and would literally  _kill_  for a double shot espresso. Especially since his Art History midterm was going to start in, oh, ten minutes.  _Dammit_.

"What?" Kit finally asked, tugging at the neck of his tee. "Not a fan of dinosaurs? Or is it mornings that've got your panties in a twist?"

**_Wimpy Barista - 0, Clever Kit - 1_ **

The barista-- _Demo_ \--Kit read off of the name tag's precise blocky lettering (and wasn't that a unique name), scrunched up his nose in not so subtle disdain. "I don't care about your fetishised dino," he said in a voice that was a lot deeper than Kit had expected from such a little guy, "even if I do think it's weird as fuck."

 _Weird?_  Kit scoffed, glancing down at his shirt. Dick the Brontosaurus was plastered against it, standing in proud 2D with his dopey phallic face. Poor Dick was always being judged by his looks, never mind the fact that Dick  _was_  about as adorable as he was disturbing. Despite that he still kept smiling. Kit was in awe. Dick wasn't weird he was misunderstood! Dick deserved a medal! Dick deserved--

Kit stared down at his Brontosaurus for another moment. Okay... On second thought, weird was probably putting it nicely. Kit would give the guy that. Rude as fuck but true.

He still loved Dick though.

**_Cranky Barista - 1, Cantankerous Kit - 1_ **

"It's not a  _fetish_ , man," Kit said, looking back up and crossing his arms loosely over his chest. He rocked on the balls of his feet, "it's a  _statement_ and a social experiment," he curled his lip as he swayed, "and  _now_  I feel like I should be mildly offended. Y'know, on Dick's behalf." And like,  _wow_. Talk about a non-existent brain to mouth filter.  _This_  was why Kit didn't do mornings. Or all-nighters. Or anything without at least two cups of coffee in his system.

God, he hated midterms.

On the upside, though, it should  _probably_  be noted that Demo was about as impressed with Kit's word vomit as he was, at least if the  _you-are-crazy-and-trying-my-patience_  look Kit got was anything to go by. Those caterpillar eyebrows were doing some major Olympics on Demo's face. Kit tried not to stare too obviously while simultaneously wishing he'd brought along one of his cameras.

"He's an herbivore," Kit explained as if his words needed further elaboration and uncrossed his arms to lean against the counter, "makes him  _sensitive_ see."

 _Cringe._ He really needed that coffee.

"Uh-huh," more eyebrow Olympics, and that vaguely homicidal look Kit remembered spying on the guy was starting to make an appearance, yikes. Couldn't really blame him though, "just look," Demo said, jabbing a finger behind Kit, "and get the  _fuck_  outta my shop."

"Language."

" _Fuck_  you," Demo growled.

Kit smiled winningly, all sharp edges and pearly whites. It was a good smile. If not somewhat deranged. Demo glared in response.

_**Uncultured Barista - 2, Mildly Offended Kit - 0** _

"Bossy," Kit quipped, "you this nice to all your customers, or am I just  _really_  special?"

Demo the barista, ignored him, opting to once again jab a finger in the air. "Just.  _Look_."

"Christ, fine," Kit said. Dick didn't like being smooshed, so Kit let out a breath and straightened, pulling down his shirt where it had started bunching the Brontosaurus' face around his middle, " _this_ , by the way, is why no one's here during hell week 1.0," he muttered, gesturing between the two of them and sobering (at least as much as he could which was probably still something like the flat side of sardonic). He turned around, "because you're an  _ass_ \--" Kit shut his mouth. Opened it. Did a good impression of a suffocating fish. Blinked at the sky. Tilted his head to the left. Scratched at the lame excuse of a beard he had growing on his face with blunt nails. Stared at the sky some more. Blinked again. Yep. It was still there. And that... That was weird. "Huh," he said, "that's weird."

Not a genius comeback but in his defense, he  _was_  still running off about thirty minutes of sleep and freaking out about the Art History midterm he had to take in... now five minutes.  _Shit_. Sue him for not making his surroundings priority  _Numero Uno_.

 ** _Bossy_** ** _Barista - 3, Oblivious Kit - .._**.

"Yeah."

In the sky, hovering larger than life was a giant oblong...rock, for lack of a better word. It cast a wide shadow over half the University. Kit could see some students pointing up at it but for the most part people just seemed to act like it wasn't there. Which again, weird. Also, now Kit really wanted that coffee  _and_  his camera.

"Y'know," Kit said after a moment, (and if maybe the only reason he started talking again was because he couldn't stand the somewhat awkward silence that had settled between them, well, that was no one's business but his own), "it's probably a promotion. Like _, 'Surprise! April Fools! Come watch our movie! Promise you aren't really being invaded!'_ " He jazz handed for dramatic effect.

Demo, though, was not amused. Those Olympic eyebrows of his seemed to be going for the gold, fluctuating between expressions of  _My-God-You-Are-A-Child_  and  _Think-Anyone-Would-Notice-If-I-Used-The-Blender-For-First-Degree-Murder?_  Honestly, it was a little flattering if not somewhat masochistic to think so.

Demo's sneered out reply of, "what," was just the icing on the proverbial cake. The amount of dry  _WTF_  he managed to pack in that one word was almost enough to make Kit want to take it back.  _Almost_. Kit never did have a very good survival instinct though.

"C'mon, give me a bone," Kit said, "pretty sure, that made at least a  _little_  sense."

There was a tick in Demo's jaw when he finally ground out, " _what_ , are you talking about?" through gritted teeth.  Kit pursed his lips and shrugged, taking it. It was probably the closest thing to a 'bone' he was getting. "Movies, man. Promo," he said, "I mean, look, thinking this is for that one, uh--I think it has that red-headed chick, Amy Adams--movie sounds less crazy then ' _here be aliens_ ' or whatever the fuck, right?"

"Are..." Demo took a breath, then, as if it pained him, said, "are you talking about Arrival?"

"Yeah. That one," Kit absentmindedly drummed two fingers on his chest while eyeing the basket of Biscotti he'd noticed on the counter beside him. They looked really good, drizzled in chocolate and smelling faintly of cinnamon.

Demo slowly shook his head, regaining Kit's attention. "I don't think that's what this is," he pinched the bridge of his nose, "why did I even ask?" He glared at Kit, "that was a dumb idea," he grumbled, "you are obviously an idiot."

"Huh," Kit glanced at the basket of biscotti biscuits again. His stomach growled. "Really?" He gasped, mock affronted and mustering as much fake surprise as possible, "no, way. Guess it  _is_  aliens then."

"Yeah."

"Well," Kit rolled his eyes.  _Fuck_ _it. When in Rome_ _,_  "whatever it is, think it'll get me out of my midterms?" Kit grabbed one of the biscuits from the basket and took a careful bite. Holy. That was good. He hummed around the mouthful.

Demo just stared at him, a little slack jawed, his caterpillar eyebrows almost disappearing in the fronds of his oily hair. Whether it was from the question or from the balls it took to more-or-less steal a biscuit right in front of him, Kit wasn't sure but the reaction was pretty priceless. Kit took another bite from his biscuit, munching sagely. Demo pointed towards the door.

"Get the fuck out."

Kit finished his biscuit slowly and with a swallow wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A few crumbs landed on the counter, speckling it like dirt. Demo grimaced and waved his hand at the door. "Out," he said, tone hard and brokering no debate. Kit shrugged and grabbed another biscuit before turning towards the door with a slight spring in his step. Childish and vindictive? Maybe, but so,  _so_  worth it. All he'd wanted was a coffee, but dammit, he'd settle for 'free' biscotti.

_**Bitchy Barista - 4, Kit the** _ **_Uncaffinated_ ** **_\- Got The Fuck Out_ **

(In other news, midterms were decidedly  _not_  cancelled and he was totally late for Professor Hard-Ass' Art History exam from hell. Prof. Isaacs was a mad man, Kit decided, completely insane. Kit was pretty sure like twenty percent of his grade got docked in those five seconds alone. Life officially  _sucked_. Not to mention he couldn't stop wondering if the weird rocks in the sky were some sort of promo or not. He wanted to be right so he could rub it that angry little barista's bushy face.)

((Course thinking about that and trying to remember whether or not  _Theotokos_ _and Child_  was Byzantine in origin or Late Gothic on thirty minutes of uncaffinated sleep really didn't go together.  _Whoop-dee-freaking-doo_.))

 

_Art by the lovely @_ _SyniaSidhe_  


	2. a picture worth a thousand words

_**Click** _ _**!** _

"Y'know," Kit said, apropos of nothing, "I kinda really hope those weird floating rock things are actually alien. Maybe then I could say I got brainwashed and finally get that retest in Art History I've been vying for." He cracked his neck, rolling it from side to side before glancing at the shot he just took with his camera--a Canon EOS T7i  Rebel's--screen, "like I know most movies say we'd all totally die, be enslaved or end up at war and  _then_  die and be enslaved, but like what about Arrival? They just wanted to rewrite our brains. But in a good way. Like why can't it be  _good_  non-violent, peace, love and not-here-to-take-over-the-world aliens?" Kit stretched, then went to adjust the lights set up around the edges of the shoot. The shadows weren't quite where he wanted them in that last shot. He hummed as he worked, head moving along to the faint beat playing from the speakers in the background. It was some America's Top 40 track he vaguely recognized. Catchy but otherwise unmemorable. He nodded to himself, satisfied with the adjustments and walked back to where he was before.

"Tilt your head a little to the left, Oz," Kit said to his client, the (objectively) hot guy sitting on the chaise lounge in the middle of the room. Kit's camera was poised in front of his face, ready for action, "up more," Kit said, "yeah - now look more bitchy. Channel your inner Cersei Lannister. Rock that pinched lemon face. Perfect."

_**Click** _ **!**

Oz rolled his eyes after he heard the tell-tale shutter of the camera, shifting to have the slender line of himself cast over the curve of the sofa. "I'm glad to know you still have your priorities straight," he drawled, raising a hand to lightly touch his made-up cheek. He made sure to look acceptably perturbed. And bitchy, "this okay?"

Kit nodded. "Uh-huh," he mumbled, distracted. His tongue poked out between his lips in concentration. He turned the camera vertically. Fiddled with the focus on the lens.

_**Click!** _

"Well," Oz settled into his position. His lips were pinched, looking dramatic in their coloring and the lights cast long shadows across his face. His hair was styled in wild oily looking clumps, draping over the sharp edges of his cheekbones in tinted waves. "You're done now aren't you?"

There was a pause.

"With your midterms or whatever," Oz elaborated when Kit just looked confused. Kit grunted in response, and Oz clucked his tongue in distaste. "Stop whining, then. Grow a pair and, I don't know, maybe actually _study_ next time? The semester isn't over yet is it?"

_**Click** _ _**!** _

Kit sighed and lowered his camera, letting it hang a few inches off the ground from between his bent knees. "Wardrobe change," he grumbled, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He stared up at his friend and current 'boss'/client/employer beseechingly.

Oz huffed, clearly put upon but obliged, moving to the rack where the rest of his outfits for the shoot were. He stepped behind the partition to switch. Meanwhile, Kit began rubbing the lens of his camera with the bunched end of his 'The Walking Dude' shirt, because dammit, even aliens (or at least potential, hypothetical aliens) weren't about to put a damper on his own eclectic brand of humor. For a few moments nothing but the rustle of clothing could be heard.

"I probably bombed most of them," Kit said suddenly, feigning nonchalance. His eyes were glued to the camera in his lap, fingers trembling a tiny bit, "bet I'll have to take the 'W' if I don't want the 'F'. Mom's gonna kill me for that." He laughed bitterly.

Oz peeked his head out from behind the partition.

"You really think you did  _that_ bad man?"

Kit shrugged, "I mean, yeah?" he shot his friend a wry grin from his spot on the floor, "despite my usually oh so sunny disposition I'll have you know I'm nothing if not pragmatic."

"Cynical more like."

"Pot calling the kettle black, man."

"Uh-huh," Oz's lips twitched up the faintest bit and he ducked back behind the partition, the sharp edges of his elbows jutting out from the sides as he slipped on another shirt. Kit awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Soooo," he said, drawing the vowel out a few beats while he waited for Oz to re-emerge from behind the wooden screen, "how're you holding up? Really? I mean you--like--say you're fine, but--like--isn't James still off in New Zealand filming? And then Dante's down in Jersey, cause of his tour and just--I know I've been fucking with you about the weird ass floating Arrival rocks, being all _'yoooo, fuck yeah the apocalypse',_  but aren't you like, even a little scared? Or something?"

"Well," Oz began, dry as the Sahara, "if you're gonna insist on changing the subject with the subtlety of a sledgehammer--"

Kit scoffed. "Hardy-har-har, man."

"--I guess I could  _consider_ humoring you."

"Ah, just for me?" Kit crooned, shooting the partition a grin. He clutched at his chest and pressed the back of his free hand to his forehead, swooning. "You shouldn't have. Gonna make a guy feel  _special_ and shit _._ "

"Dear god," Kit could hear the disgust in Oz's voice. No doubt the dude was wrinkling his nose in that kinda snotty way of his and glaring with the most unimpressed look he could muster in Kit's general direction. He couldn't be sure of course, what with the whole wooden screen blocking his view and all, but still. The thought made Kit grin, "why  _do_ I hang out with you?"

"Obvs cause of my _oh_  so sunny disposition, Mr. Blue. Duh. Haven't we already been over this?" He waggled his eyebrows at Oz when he poked his head out to toss a balled up shirt at him. He ducked and smiled winningly, "also both your boyfriends are out of town and I'm the only one who'll put up with your moody ass. So there." He tossed the shirt back.

"I need better friends," Oz grumped, finally walking out from behind the wooden screen Kit had set up in the corner of the room and back to the chaise lounge--sans shirt. Cause of course he would. Oz loved to be contrary. And show off his tattoos. (And the fact that he was probably the skinniest dude on the planet. Like holy shit, Kit generally forgot with how baggy Oz's usual clothes were, but like  _seriously,_  the guy looked like a strong breeze would break him into a million little Oz sized pieces... Sex with his boyfriends must be so fucking _delicate_.)

Kit grinned and brought his camera back up. "Probably."

"Anyway," Oz said as he eyed the chaise lounge in thought--likely trying to decide how he wanted to pose next--and drummed a painted hand against his hip, "to answer your question: no, I'm not scared. Dante will be back in town next week and I've got plenty else to worry about what with my new EP coming out," he nodded to himself, seeming to come to a decision and dropped to the floor, legs spread with one arm dangling between them, the other brushing his hair back out of his face. He dropped his gaze and tilted his chin back and up, lips parting a crack.

**_CLICK!_ **

"Hot man," Kit said, after lowering his camera, "that'll look good on a poster."

Oz smirked. "It will won't it?" He sighed, "but what about you?"

Kit frowned. "What?"

"Are  _you_  scared? Or is this really all only about your scholarship? Cause you know like if you  _really_ need it, I'll lend you the money to stay in school and your mom doesn't have to know about it. I mean between my trust fund and the fact I'm sorta famous and my boyfriends are definitely famous, it's not like I  _don't_  have plenty of cash."

"Ouch," Kit winced and chuckled awkwardly, "way to rub it in man."

Oz rolled his eyes. "You know that's not how I meant it." 

"I know," Kit let out a breath, "I'd rather not though."

"Well the offer'll be on the table."

"Which is cool," Kit leaned back on his hands and sat, cross-legged, on the ground. He winked at Oz, "still probs won't though."

Oz scoffed, but shrugged in acquiescence. "You better study then."

"Yeah," he said wiping his brow with the back of his hand. It was 2016 late November and all was right in the confines of America. Except for the floating Arrival rocks in the sky. Those were a little weird. "And yeah, if I'm being honest, I'm kinda scared too, but like," he licked his lips and tried to gather his thoughts, "it's also kinda like cool you know? And, I don't know, I sort of have like this feeling it'll all work out okay in the end? Maybe."

Oz laughed, one of those, surprisingly loud and free ones he generally reserved for Dante and James (which reminded Kit, he didn't think Oz had mentioned when James was coming back to L.A either, which was sort of weird, but whatever), instead of that condescending scoff he gave the public. "Yeah," he said, "I get that feeling too, anyway," he rubbed his hands together and pushed himself to standing again, "how about we get some lunch. I'm craving Chipotle."

Kit grinned. "Only if you're paying."

(Oz had rolled his eyes but did in fact end up paying for lunch. And dinner, since why not and like he'd said, Oz did, indeed, have  _plenty_   of cash. Kit decidedly did not (ahem totally did) take  _gratuitous_  advantage of that fact. Then the two got riotously drunk on the cheap booze that Kit charmed the guy at the liquor store into selling him for half price, played video-games until the sun set and the television's screen started swimming in front of their eyes before moving to Oz's bougie ass patio to laugh uproariously in terrible English accents while drinking fancy fruity cocktails under the moon (and the weird ass floating rock thing that had somehow become commonplace but like, whatever). Life was good.)

((Then the sun decided to announce its presence by stabbing them in the fucking brain at seven in the fucking morning and holy hell did they promptly regret everything.))

(((The porcelain throne had never seemed prettier. Kit may or may not have proposed.))) 

 


	3. the bitchy barista strikes back

**It was on a particularly blustery Wednesday morning** \--about a week after the photo shoot with Oz and the subsequent hangover from Tartarus--that Kit finally decided it was time to bite the bullet and return to what he had  _affectionately_ dubbed  _Brimstone and Hell Leaves_  (aka the only coffee shop open earlier than seven A.M. on campus). Now,  _why_ exactly he'd thought this was a grand idea when he had perfectly good instant coffee sitting under the bed of his dorm  _probably_  had a lot to do with the fact that he was  _really_ fucking sleep deprived and wanted something that  _didn't_ taste like ass for once in his miserable college life. The struggle was real. (And the desperation was realer.) He needed a caramel machiato stat.

That being said, he couldn't quite shake the feeling of dread he felt when the bell dinged? dung? dunged? above his head--and no it had absolutely  _nothing_  to do with the fact that he'd kinda sorta stolen a couple biscotti from, ahem,  _Brimstone and Hell Leaves--_ patent pending thank you--last time and  _entirely_  to do with the bitchy barista standing behind the counter that had been a complete uncultured  _swine_. Like really. Who couldn't tell the difference between a brontosaurus and a _penis?_  Dick was still offended. Kit could tell. Obviously. It was all in the wrinkles see. They'd been extra...wrinkly lately.

So, as Kit crossed the threshold into  _B.A.H.L,_ rubbing his hands together to ward off that early morning winter chill, he felt a bit like he was crossing over to his own funeral...or maybe just sending a letter during the night shift in  _Animal Crossing_. You know through that one like  _really_  bitchy purple pelican? Or duck? Or whatever the hell bird she was. Either way, she was mean, and always came with the most irritated sounding background music making Kit in equal parts dread and look forward to going to the post office post six o'clock P.M. Which is like weird or something but, whatever. 

Inside, B.A.H.L looked more or less the same. There was a distinct lack of pumpkins and a decided increase in cheesy plastic turkey's wearing pilgrim's hats and cornucopias lining the counter but the air still blessedly smelled of coffee and the flooring still made Kit think of a bad 50's diner replica. Oh. And the bitchy barista was still behind the counter. Which was honestly the crown jewel of the experience. Kit grinned, "hi," he said. The bitchy barista looked up from the textbook he'd been reading from, one of his stocky fingers trailing behind the words on the page. His eyes widened.

"Oh no," the bitchy barista--Demo--grumbled. About five different emotions flickered across his face in about as many seconds as he quickly flipped the textbook shut, a lone pencil acting as a bookmark as he straightened. Apathy. Surprise. A sort of _why-me-lord-why_ look. Irritation. And finally, the crème de le résistance, acceptance. "You're back," he grunted, arms crossed over his chest like a particularly pissed off child. Gosh. Demo was smol. The bushy caterpillars he called eyebrows just made him smol..er. It was adorable. Kit's grin widened. (He probably looked at least somewhat deranged at this point, whoops). 

"What can I say," he shrugged, swaggering over to the register and leaning his hip against it, "I just couldn't stay away. The service was  _great_  last time and well...your eyebrow game is impeccable."

Demo narrowed his eyes, the edges of his lip curling up into a snarl. "Fuck you," he spat, aggression rolling off him in tense waves. 

"Damn," Kit smirked, "I'd usually ask a guy for dinner first. You always move this fast? "

The barista's left eyebrow twitched and Kit watched--somewhere between curious and amused--as Demo visibly held back what would have probably been a slew of incredibly inappropriate (and unprofessional) remarks. Demo's jaw clenched while his cheeks began to turn a ruddy red. Gosh. The little barista was  just so  _angry_. And it was stupidly easy to push his little buttons.

"Careful," Kit drawled, "you look like you're about to blow a gasket. Don't hurt yourself on my account, man. Who'd make my coffee then?"

A harsh breath forced its way through Demo's nose and he gripped the counter, steeling himself. "Are you actually going to buy something this time?" He asked from between clenched teeth. Which. Well. Okay. Valid, all things considered.

"Why else would I be here?" Kit cleared his throat, smirk still in place, "don't answer that," he added when the barista opened his mouth to respond, "I'm craving a caramel machiato," he said instead, "You do those?"

"You can read can't you," Demo growled with a sort of grudging acceptance and a cursory jerk of the chin to the menu above him, "what does it look like?"

"Like you're being sassy at six and should start a band. Fill that  _'angsty-drummer-with-anger-management-problems'_ trope and get yourself a harem of barely legals," Kit tapped his chin, "who knows, maybe you'd mellow out some then."

The barista blinked, taken aback. "I'm...a  _music_  major," he said slowly, eyebrows scrunching to the point where they looked like one long, unamused line.

"Seriously?"Kit's smirk dropped in his surprise, "thought you'd be--like--an engineer or something dealing with sciencey shit."

"And _I_  thought you were here on a sports scholarship," Demo shot back, "ass."

Kit winced. His hands tugged at the hem of his 'This is Where We Belong' tee, a picture of a grumpy troll sitting under a bridge resting below that. He'd thought it was ironic at the time. "Point taken...sorry."

"Uh-huh," Demo said, deflating a smidge at the apology and changing the subject, actually doing his  _job,_  coffee and things. Kit would be surprised if he wasn't sure  it was just a ploy to get rid of him faster. It was both flattering and vaguely insulting, "so caramel machiato?  Will that be all."

"Uh," Kit said intelligently, "yeah. Uh venti."

Demo sighed, fingers hovering over the keys of the register. "Does it  _look_  like this is Starbucks?"

Kit shrugged.

"Whatever, your total's ten seventy-five, idiot."

 Kit sputtered, "pardon?!" 

The barista leveled him with a look. His mouth twitched, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. The little shit. "Problem?" He asked, a hint of saccharine sweetness in his voice.

"Uh, yeah?!" Kit gawked at the number, "it's a fucking  _machiato,_  not the Queen's pearls! The fuck kind of coffee costs eleven bucks?! It about to do a song and dance?!" 

"My manager says that it'll leave a party in your mouth," Demo said flatly, "but the guy's also almost always stoned." 

"Well that's reassuring."

Demo rolled his eyes (and like what was up with that? People had been doing that a lot around Kit lately. The whole rolling their eyes thing. It was almost like people found him ridiculous or something which, come on, would be  _absurd._  Like really. It was enough to give a guy a complex). "You bought the last of my biscotti," he said.

Kit frowned. "Uh, no I didn't. I literally just said I only wanted a caramel machiato. Like  _lit-er-all-y,_  man."

Demo just looked at him. Seriously what was the guys--

Oh.

Right.

Exhibit A as to why Kit didn't generally return to places he may or may not have pilfered goods from.

Kit rubbed the back of his neck. "I have...absolutely no idea what you could be implying here."

"Uh-huh," Demo said, clearly not believing him. Which. Fair, "just know those biscotti you totally  _didn't_  steallast time cost a dollar each."

"Fuck me with a chainsaw and call me Mother Theresa." _With a side of sue me, asshole, it was like two dollars with tax._

"Whatever Heather," Demo held out a hand, "you gonna pay up or what?" Kit glared.

"Fine," he grumbled, pulling out his wallet and dropping a twenty in the barista's waiting palm. "And FYI, I would have paid for them last time if, you know, the  _giant floating rock things_  hadn't decided to interrupt." Demo scoffed.

"Guess the  _'floating rock things_ ' didn't give a fuck," Demo said. He opened the register and handed Kit his change, "here, nine twenty-five."

"You have no soul," Kit accused, shoving his money (and wallet) into his back pocket.

"The price of good coffee: Satan and sugar."

Kit folded his arms over his chest. He would deny it to his grave, but that the bitchy barista actually had a decent comeback. "Sure."

Demo rolled his eyes (again), and went to make Kit's coffee, ending the conversation. Honestly, that suited him just fine. Call him petty, or maybe childish, but Kit didn't particularly take to 'losing' (or the perception of loss) very well. Kit shifted to the side, watching the barista fiddle with a bunch of fancy gleaming silver barista tools that frankly Kit didn't really care about as long as the guy knew how to use them (and didn't secretly try to poison his drink). After a minute, the scent of coffee permeated through the air even stronger than before. Gosh. Kit's mouth watered.  His throat felt extra dry just thinking about sipping at it.

"Did you want caramel on the top as well?" Demo asked, turning around and stepping back up to the counter, bottle of caramel in one hand and coffee cup in the other. 

Kit nodded, "drizzle it up, baby."

Demo pursed his lips but obliged. After another moment he handed him the cardboard contraption. 

"Thanks," Kit said. He went to take a sip.

"Don't thank me," the barista drawled, that hint of saccharine sweetness creeping back up in his voice. Kit paused, the cup halfway up to his lips. That tone was suspicious as hell. He looked down.

Drawn on the top of Kit's machiato's whipped-cream was a thick caramel dick.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi all! And thanks for reading the first chapter of 'Kit and the Art of Thieving'! I hope you enjoyed this quirky off-beat little brain child of mine and will continue to do so. Any feedback on pacing, character or chapter length will be greatly appreciated!


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